A Truly Miserable Day
by 2DaughtersOfAthena
Summary: When Hermione is having a horrendously bad day, there are only a few real comforts that will suffice. Oneshot. Complete.


**Hello! Muggledom is going up tomorrow. I promise it's done, but I just have been so busy with this! I'm sorry!**

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Jumper**

 **WC: 1063**

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I'm tense. Fists clenched, heart racing, and itching to run away. Instead of acting on that feeling, I am forced to sit here, smiling amiably at my boss, in the middle of a not-at-all-good performance review. But I have no clue where it all went wrong.

"You were late yesterday, and four days last week."

I was late yesterday because Crookshanks had to be taken to the vet. Last week, I was living with the Weasley's, meaning that every morning is a nightmare. Every morning, there is a fight to the death for breakfast, then a dash upstairs to get dressed, before being coddled into lateness by Mrs Weasley. I love her, and she's wonderful, but my boss is not.

"It's unacceptable to be late this many times in a row, given the importance of our goings-on in the department as of late–"

Yes, because our department is currently dealing with international affairs, including that of both the Muggle and Magical world. Because we're dealing with Magical and Muggle Ministers, it means the stakes are higher than normal, and that apparently there are too many sensitivities involved. However, one couldn't help being late on those days, and I would argue that I'm not to blame if it wasn't for my boss getting into his stride.

"- you might think that employing one of the Golden Trio might merit some level of excellency, but Miss Granger I have been sorely mistaken. Your work ethic is below average, your attitude is frankly poor, and I've had quite a few complaints about you."

"From who?" I ask, unable to stop myself. He looks surprised. "Sorry, sir, but who has complained about me? Why?"

"Your fellow colleagues, and several members from other departments," he answers slowly, as if measuring his words. He frowns, those thick grey eyebrows acting more like giant slugs across his broad forehead. "However, that is beside the point. The point is that people have complained, and they have their right to as well."

The rest of the meeting does not go to plan either. He proceeds to tell me all the things I should be doing, which I clearly was not aware of previously. It turns out to be a miserable procedure, with myself exiting his office halfway between furious and deeply upset. I don't shake his hand on the way out, almost determined not to be a consummate professional, because he clearly doesn't think that highly of me.

I settle uncomfortably into my desk back outside, shuffling the papers I had brought with me. Who knew I had flopped so expertly. I certainly hadn't known. Instead of working, I think back to the very first days I spent at the Ministry. I was following a woman named Miranda, who was insanely chatty. She let me shadow her for a week, and I didn't get any ogling looks, or confused stares, or the usual inane chatter from strangers. Everyone treated me normally.

All of a sudden, it feels as though I don't have any friends left here. _Quite a few complaints_ , from people in my department no less. That's kind of half the problem with my boss; he tends to belittle people on a daily basis, and it's not even just me. Harrold Van de Sluis. Fancy name, but not a fancy man.

"You know you're doing the wrong thing, right?" calls Henderson from three desks down, slowly walking towards me with that supercilious gaze. What a – "That's what he told you, right?"

"Then please, pray tell, what am I supposed to be doing?" I demand, instantly frustrated.

"Woah Granger, cool it!" He blows at me, as if I am actually a searing furnace. Which, coincidentally, is how my face feels right this moment. "I'm coming to help you. Merlin!"

He raises his glasses over his head, peering over my work and scowling.

"Spit it out," I tell him.

"This is the 1996 folder."

I glance down. I swear loudly. I'm supposed to be reviewing the most recent files. I didn't even wonder why the folder was so much thicker than I may have otherwise expected. And the files I have been using are actually four years out of date. How the heck didn't I notice?

"You're joking! Why didn't anyone else tell me?"

"Because no one likes you. Except for me."

"Great," I mutter. How is it that no one likes me? Sure, I never thought that being part of the Golden Trio would guarantee me friends, but I guess I somewhat expected people to be a little interested. And here I am. No one likes me, I've been working on the wrong files for a month, and I have no clue how to backtrack to where I was good with pretty much everyone.

At lunch, I sit alone for twenty minutes, then go back to the files I was supposed to be doing. The rest of the day is miserable. It even rains as I leave the Ministry, soaking me so completely that it feels like I should shed several layers of skin before I can be warm again. Clothes wet through, skin damp, and spirit dragging through the sewer, my apartment is a welcome comfort.

There's nothing in the fridge, so I make a quick phone call to the Chinese takeaway, and then find the most expensive wine in the cabinet. Drinking alone, eating takeaway, and miserable. All that's left is a really rubbish romantic comedy on the television.

Whilst waiting for the Chinese, I shower in a scalding water, and dress in pyjamas. In the corner of my eye, as a I slip a t-shirt over my damp hair, I spot the thing that always seems to make an awful day much better. My old jumper, as first donated to me by my mother. It's fluffy on the inside, crew neck, and not something you could comfortably wear out in public with the geometric pattern that could blind strangers. The best part of all is the sentimental value. My mother used to wear this, years ago. I have worn-out photos of her wearing this very jumper.

In true comfort, I eat my Chinese takeaway, have three big glasses of wine, and laugh my way through an incredible rom-com called You've Got Mail. Then I have loads of ice cream, and the day isn't quite so bad after all.

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End file.
